Simon
Jenkins has observed that the churches of the
Ouse delta form probably the finest concentration
of late-medieval craftsmanship in England.
Obviously, any cathedral would give them a run
for their money, but you know what he means.
Here, there are at least a dozen anonymous and
workaday villages with simply enormous churches,
many of them replete with wonders in stone and
wood. There is remarkably little medieval glass,
and hardly a wall painting at all. Perhaps the
natural puritanism of the Fen people dispatched
these, but saw a practical use to the benches and
the fonts.

The biggest and grandest
churches are at Walpole St
Peter and Terrington
St Clement, but neither are
remarkable for their treasures. Walpole St Peter
is one of the most stunning architectural
documents of the late medieval period, and
Terrington St Clement is full of light and life,
but here at Wiggenhall St Mary is one of the best
collection of 15th and 16th century benches in
England.

There are
four Wiggenhalls: St Peter, St Germans, St Mary and St
Mary Magdalene, the village of the last the largest, and
known as Magdalen. Most are approached up narrow straight
roads in the fens. All four churches sit close to the
banks of the Ouse - these banks have been raised, because
the water level is now higher than the surrounding land,
but the towers still form startling landmarks for any
boat heading upstream from Lynn.

St Peter
is a ruin, and St Mary is now in the care of the Churches
Conservation Trust. It sits to the north of Magdalen with
a couple of large houses for company. As with all CCT
churches, St Mary is well-kept. The rendering of the nave
and chancel has recently been renewed and painted. They
hide a secret of this church, the amount of brick used in
its construction. The only expanse of brick still visible
is the upper part of the tower. The squatness of the
tower belies its height, and stair turrets lean
deliciously into it in the north-west and south-west
corners, coming out as castellated turrets at the top.

So, we may
assume that the top third of the tower is contemporary
with the late medieval rebuilding - but the builders kept
the Early English doorway on both sides of the church.
The south porch is large, but functional; there is
nothing of the elaborate decoration you find at Walpole
St Peter. Also functional is the extensive late Victorian
restoration by George Street - all the roofs are his.

You step
inside to an interior that is at once large but a little
claustrophobic. This is because of the sheer volume of
woodwork - range after range of solid, long benches with
high bench ends. Street's crown-posted roof seems to
press down to meet them; without their pierced and
traceried backs they would feel oppressive. The dust in
the air and the murky light from the strange east window
gave a sense, just for a moment, of being underwater.
There is a stillness, and on return visits I always feel
as if I have disturbed something that had long remained
undisturbed, as if I was the first person to enter here
for ages, perhaps since my last visit.

The bench ends at
Wiggenhall St Mary are complex. Tiers arise each side
flanking a large niche, which contains a figure. The
tiers each rise to a second and third figure, which are
sometimes related. Above all rises the solid poppyhead.
You can spend an enjoyable half hour just pottering about
trying to identify them. Many are in Tudor dress, and are
seated in everyday attitudes. Some carry rosaries. Some
are Saints, others represent animals, Labours of the
Months, virtues or Christian symbols.

The nave
is filled with benches from three phases. Firstly in the
mid-15th century, and then again in the early 16th
century, and last of all a restoration of the late 19th
Century. The newer benches are those in the aisles.
Benches are a symptom of what I have come to think of as
a proto-Reformation. Perhaps a century before the real
one, there was a major shift in the English Church from
private devotions to corporate acts of worship. This
seems to have been partly a response to the Black Death,
and a concentration of the mind on making it through
purgatory. This in turn came about because of the
breaking up of the old Norman landed estates, which
brought forth a new wealthy middle class, who were most
concerned that their souls should be prayed for.

Part of
their project was a reinforcing of orthodox Catholic
doctrine. During the 15th century, vast perpendicular
windows replaced the wall paintings, filling the churches
with light, and the great roods were raised up to focus
people's minds on the central doctrine of the Christian
faith. Elements of
Catholic doctrine - the sacraments, the works of mercy,
the deadly sins - appeared in glass and stone. Benches
filled the rebuilt churches. No longer were there shadowy
corners where old ladies could tell their beads, and the
plowman his Paternoster, as Mass progressed. The first
pulpits appeared, and with the coming of the pulpit the
Priest left his chancel and entered the domain of the
people, taking it over. All eyes were fixed on him now.

The east end of the nave was designed for
height, for the great rood to draw everyone's attention.
Perhaps to help accentuate this, the chancel arch is
curiously narrow, and there are just eight panels on the
dado of the screen, four figures on each side flanking
the entrance. From the north they are: St Mary of
Magdala, St Dorothy, St Margaret, St Scholastica (twin
sister of St Benedict), St Catherine, St Barbara, the
Blessed Virgin and child, and St John the Baptist.

Somewhat in contrast, there is an elegant
Laudian font cover with slim pillars, and the date 1624.
I wonder if the pelican in her piety on top is a later
addition? As at several local churches, there is an
early-16th century latten lectern, an eagle supported at
the feet by three little grinning lions.

The Jacobean pulpit still
retains its hourglass stand. Smatterings of
medieval glass are in the upper lights of the
north aisle windows. The royal arms are dated
1791, and tell us that the churchwarden that year
was J Suttrby.There is an elegant parclose screen
in the south aisle which now contains the
elaborate memorial tomb of Sir Henry Kerville and
his wife. They lie side by side, hands in pious
attitudes of prayer. He died in 1624. Most moving
are the two little figures below them, one in
swaddling clothes, for these are their children
who died before them.

The
chancel is relatively simple and empty, left in
its 19th century clothes. The grimy green glass
of the east window is overpowering. Just for a
moment, you might be anywhere. And then you turn
back and see those vast ranges of medieval
benches again. They really are most remarkable. A
hallmark of Churches Conservation Trust churches
is that they are cleared of clutter, but that is
impossible here, of course, because the clutter
is the thing you come to see.